Avvari's Rage
by coreyjotunn
Summary: So, I was kinda angry that you only have one human origin choice. So what'd I do? Decided to make my own. So this is the story of the Avvari barbarian Din, who won the right to be a Grey Warden with blood and steel, and will now unite the land of Ferelden to get his chance. The chance to slay an Archdemon.


Around the camp, one more time. Sten was watching, even if he was only looking at the bits of meat roasting over the fire. The Qunari had the ability to _see_, even if his eyes weren't looking. It wasn't something taught, it was something you were born with. Din had it as well. Hrafn moved at his side, the wind gusting, Din catching scents in it like an animal. They had felt no darkspawn for days, and the traps they had set out would have taken care of any that strayed too close. But that didn't matter. He had to check, had to see for himself. Had to see with sight and smell and touch. That was the bane of being Avvari, the bane of being trained as a hunter, a tracker, a warrior. Duncan had taken him in, made him a Grey Warden, Hrafn becoming one by proxy, but that did not take away his training. It did not change who he was, who he had been born to be. No more than dressing a Chasinid in Orlesian plate made them a chevalier, did making him a Grey Warden make him a diplomatic knight. He was who he was, and that was all that he would ever be.

Finally satisfied, he bled out from the shadows, taking his seat next to Alistair. He silently counted the seconds, until the former Templar turned to ask one of the companions a question and screamed upon noticing the barbarian. Din laughed quietly, the raspy noise more of a whisper of sound than what most would call a laugh. The ugly knot of scar tissue across his throat had more than enough to do with that. A lucky arrow, coated in some dark poison that had resisted healing. Morrigan had informed him that he was lucky he hadn't died from the wound, let alone the poison. Her mother had been healing it longer than all of the rest of the wounds on both he and Alistair together. It had changed him, in more ways than one. Sometimes he didn't know if the darkness that had risen up inside him during harder times was from the mark the poison had left, the darkspawn blood that boiled in his veins thanks to the Joining, or was just the way he would react under the kind of pressures they were facing.

"You know, for someone who claims to be a warrior, you are very stealthy." Leliana, of course. He had spoken with her, and knew that she had been a bard in Orlais. A bard was a spy, even he knew that. She thought him a barbarian, uncouth and without any intelligence or cunning. But she was wrong. When she was ready to tell him, she would tell him. But until then, he would let her think she was keeping her secrets. Hrafn growled at her, and Din reached down and scratched him between the ears. The mabari quieted, licking his jowls as he watched the meat turn over the fire.

"For someone who claims to be a sister," The voice rasped out, and he almost smirked to see Leliana flinch. She had told Alistair that it sounded like that of a Hurlock Emissary, and that had made him laugh quietly. To think that his voice sounded like the very things he fought to kill, chasing all across this cursed land to make sure their stink was eradicated from the world. "You fight very much like an assassin."

The challenge was out, and he could see it in her eyes. She now knew that he knew, and he was going to enjoy watching her squirm. Alistair, ever the diplomat when Morrigan wasn't concerned, cut the tension with a very forced cheerful, "Food is ready!" The former mage-hunter began to carve away at the bits of meat that Din had brought in, and started to hand them out to whoever wanted them. Hrafn was fed first, Din making sure that what he was eating was to his liking before taking his own meat. His hound was his life, and his hounds life was his to make better. If that meant making sure the food was to his liking, then he would do it. If that meant finding Hrafn a special treat while they were in town, then he would do so.

Sten spoke, and that was shocking enough. The large man usually never spoke unless he was directly asked a question, and even then he was reluctant.

"I am curious, Grey Warden. The Blight is not in the direction of this Redcliffe. Why do we go there?"

Din gnawed at the rabbits thigh bone, getting as much meat as he could before cracking it between his jaws. "Simple enough. We need an army. Arl Eamon can give us one. He lives in Redcliffe. We go to Redcliffe, start building an army to attack the Blight." He sucked marrow from the bones, tossing one into the fire before speaking again. The rasp in his voice had went deeper, because he was trying to show Sten that even if Din was smaller, he was in charge. He was the one who lead this group, not the Qunari. They fought the Blight when he said. "Unless you want to charge the Blight, thousands strong, with just the six of us. I'm sure the next month of survival in Ferelden would be rife with songs about our failed frontal assault."

The large Qunari stood, his fist clenched at his sides. Din already had a hand on a dagger at his waist, waiting for him to make a move. He didn't not trust the Qunari, but he didn't truly care for him either.

"Vashedan." Sten stomped away, and Din was put in the mind of a rather large child, one that had been told they weren't allowed sweets and sent to bed. But it ran deeper than that. Sten was a leader with his people. Now he had to follow one he did not respect. Din couldn't be sure he wouldn't react the same if he was told to follow Alistair instead of the man taking his lead. He was returned to the conversation from his thoughts as Leliana was asking him a question.

"So, Alistair has told me about his plans to be a Templar before he became a Grey Warden, but what of you? What had you planned to do before Duncan conscripted you?"

Reaching forward, he carved more meat off the roasting carcasses and gave some to Hrafn before taking his own.

"First off, I wasn't conscripted. I fought for the honor. He was traveling through the area, and my Jarl took him in for the night, giving him food and drink and a dry place to sleep. When asked if he was recruiting, and the reply was yes, a melee was put together quickly. The other warriors stomped and swore, striving with their axes and spears." Din laughed, tossing meat back into his mouth and chewing, wiping away the oil on his lips before finishing. "I went to the top of the Jarl's tent and fired my bow into them, and then I was the only one left standing. So to speak."

Shock registered on both of their faces, but Alistair spoke first.

"You killed your own people?"

Din shrugged, looking at them. "So it was with my people. When we fight for an honor, we fight to the death. Not only does it ensure that we do our beast, it ensures that only those that want it the most will attempt to take it. We either survive and take our glory, or die in shame. There is no games for an Avvari."

"I think I'm going to be sick." Alistair did happen to look a bit green, but that didn't bother Din that much. He was weak. Oh, he knew how to swing a sword and to block with his shield, and he could press enemies back with it. But not all strength was in the strength of arms. Alistair held weakness in his soul, like a deep print held water in the rains. He would not survive and Avvari winter, not in their cold mountains. He would die, letting the whole family starve, before he killed the one babe they could not feed, and whose cries merely hurt the souls of everyone, or the one elder who could not hunt, whose stories of past glory rank of bygone ages. Din could, and had. Survival was what was important. But Alistair put place in his honor, and that would serve him well enough. But his honor wouldn't stop the taint, oh no. But then again, nothing would.

Leliana had mastered what he assumed was horror, and was asking questions again. If he didn't know better, he'd swear she was writing a book. She had done nothing but ask, ask, ask, her questions ranging from the trivial to the introspective since they had left Lothering and her Chantry.

"Do you believe in the Maker, Din?" He could hear the laughter in her voice, that songbird accent grating on his nerves for some reason, "And is Din really your name?"

His voice rasped in the dark as he stood, Hrafn standing by his side. The yellow and orange flames flickered on his tattoos, ranging from his hands and up his arms, to over his face, the strange designs foreign to most.

"I will answer your questions, but the answers will be short. I need sleep. We make the final push to Redcliffe in the morning. I do not believe in your Maker. The only ones who I give my prayers to is Korth the Mountain-Father, the Lady of the Skies, and Korth's son, Hakkon Wintersbreath. I have no need of other gods, and I will ask you just the once to not try to convince me that I need to forsake mine for yours. The Maker is your god, and mine are my own."

The steel in his eyes stopped the protest that formed on the womans lips. That was all he cared about. He wanted her to stop pestering him for his thoughts on the blasted Maker. What was the Maker compared to the strength of Korth? Nothing to the Avvari. Andraste and her whining whelps could keep him.

"Secondly, my full and real name is Dinar al Tashain. When I joined the Grey Wardens, I cast off my old name, and shortened it to a new one. I am no longer my fathers son, so I no longer carry his name. Now. Go to sleep. Both of you. We have miles to go tomorrow, and I want us up and out an hour after first light." He turned to where he knew the Qunari stood. "Sten, you have first watch. Then Alistair. Then Leliana. When you see first light, wake me. The walk is long, but you won't have guard duty tomorrow to make up for lack of sleep."

He left the fireside, finding the space between the two mini-encampments that he had claimed for his own. On one side, the others, those that required and wanted human companionship and the warmth of the fire to sleep. On the other, the Witch of the Wilds, her yellow eyes watching him even now. His wolf pelts lay mostly open to the night air and sky, his lean to not tied off to obstruct the stars he would see. He felt no cold here, down so far south. The mountains that made up his blood and bone were freezing compared to this, and he slept many nights without a shirt. As he laid down, Hrafn laid beside him, the big dog already snoring. The heat rolling off of him was more than enough to keep Din warm as well. He closed his eyes, breathing slowly as he willed himself to sleep.

Tomorrow was the day they started building their army. A slight smile curled up the corners of his lips. The day that started his march to his destiny, the day his blade struck and killed the Arch-Demon.


End file.
